


Latitude Zero

by Madara_Nycteris



Series: Beyond Reason [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is a badass here, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Endgame never happened, Fluff and Angst, Jealous Steve, Lagos never happened, Love Triangles, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Brock Rumlow, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Threesome - M/M/M, but not completely bad, protective Brock Rumlow, yes believe it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-01-13 16:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18472714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madara_Nycteris/pseuds/Madara_Nycteris
Summary: What if Brock Rumlow was right? What if Bucky and the Asset were not the same person? But more important. What if Rumlow -that monster- really loved the Winter Soldier?, Steve mused.However, there was something painfully clear to Steve Rogers. He would never stop looking for his Bucky.A desperate quest for answers, a deadly revenge and a love that could kill them all. A year ago, their story had changed in just 97 minutes, but now, their whole world will never be the same.





	1. Northeast

55°40'33.38" N,  12°33'55.91" E

Copenhagen.

Steve Rogers sneaked through the balcony of the luxurious penthouse he had been investigating for days. The crescent moon was barely visible through the clouds, but the night sky was full of neon lights emerging from the red district, twelve floors down.  However, he couldn’t be less interested in the world outside this building, and tried to remain silent as he advanced through the darkness, until his steps guided him to the main piece of the suite. There were two empty glasses, a Glock 9mm and a bottle of whisky on the table. This was not a good signal.

Suddenly, a strangled moan came to his ears from across a dark corridor. Maybe his mind was just playing games to him, but for a second he could swear the voice was _his_. Steve sharpened the ear and then the whimper repeated, but this time it was companied with a wet and short sound, and they repeated once more.

And over again. Rhythmically. Every time, harder and faster.

Steve’s blood froze inside his veins when he realized he was right.

Using his whole determination, the man advanced the last steps and looked through the crack of the half-closed door of the bedchamber. The couple spread on the huge bed didn’t even notice him.

Brock Rumlow, was there, naked and on his knees, displaying obscenely his scarred body, as he pounded himself inside the warm body of the man he used to call “Winter”. Just like Steve had imagined years ago, Rumlow fucked the younger man brutally, pushing and groaning without interest in anyone else but him. One of Brock’s hands pulled harshly a fistful of Bucky’s beautiful hair, as the other grasped the flesh of his hip, keeping him bent down, over a pile of pillows.

 **“You like this, baby? You’re my sweet boy… Ohh…Only mine!  Aren’t you?”** he said among bites and licks on the other’s neck.

The man on Brock’s grip was rocking precariously his weight on his elbows and knees, and his shaking voice answered as the thrusts became even sharper and faster, punctuating the phrase between pushes. For a moment, Steve could have sworn the glassy grey eyes of the man looked directly at him… That he was talking to him and not to Rumlow.

**“Yes…Yes … I’ve only loved you…”**

**“No one else, honey?”** the former commander of STRIKE asked insidiously, as his yellow eyes looked directly in Steve’s direction.

**“No one, Brock... Only you… I’ll love you… till the end… of the line”**

 

40°41'34'' N, 73°59'25'' W

New York.

Steve woke up, screaming. _Another nightmare_ … but just like every night from the last twelve months, what horrified him the most was not the mental scenes of abuse and lust he used to witness constantly in his dreams, or the helplessness he experienced every time. Not even the light tremor that appeared on Bucky’s lips during the orgasm, when Steve believed that the gesture had only belonged to him. No. What really crashed him was his own turgid erection.

A year ago, Steve Rogers received the darkest news he could ever imagine. Bucky Barnes, the love of his life had been abducted, tortured and brainwashed by the organization they promised to combat seventy years ago, but amidst the pain and guilt, Steve had found something more. Brock Rumlow, the liar who pretended to be his friend was the main responsible of this hideous sensation inside Steve’s chest.

The word “tense” would have been a euphemism to describe his current mental and physical state. Lately, his search had been particularly arid, and even Sam and Natasha seemed disappointed with their results. Steve used to have nightmares almost on a daily basis, and sometimes the guilt and the hopelessness seemed unbearable.  Steve leaned his head again on his pillow and breathed deep and slow, trying to steady his mind. Where could _he_ be?

He rested his hand over his chest, and slowly, almost absentmindedly, it ran through the firm skin of his abdomen, until it slid into his boxers. Steve closed his eyes, trying to remain as quiet as he could. Slowly, as his fingers caressed the head of his member, he used his left hand to squeeze gently his balls. His imagination flew to his last time with Bucky, during the war… There he was, young and brilliant, riding him. The most handsome man of Brooklyn was pressing his lips against Steve’s, touching him, whispering sweet nothings about how lovely was his Stevie. _“I adore you, sweetheart”_ Steve could almost hear it against his earlobe…

 **“Ohh… Buck!… Please… Please stay… hmm!…”** the words escaped from Steve’s lips before he could notice, as his hands moved faster, enjoying for the first time in months this pleasure. After the plane crash, Steve had not searched for companion in a world where everybody looked at him like a piece of meat, but his memories were so vivid and reliable even before war. God! He had always loved Bucky’s deep, his silky skin and soft voice, not to mention his sweet mouth, and oh those eyes!

His eyes… His eyes full of desperation and fear right in front of him, when out of nothing, the image of his beloved falling to his death appeared in Steve’s mind.

**“Shit”.**

His hands stopped and he just froze for a moment. The guilt and the sadness took over his heart again. How could he be so selfish? He was trying to get some rest in his own apartment during a brief pause of his search mission. He got good friends, food and a warm bed, while Bucky was still lost and lonely. Steve remained still for some minutes more, just watching the ceiling and questioning himself if he could get some sleep after this.

What would Bucky do? When they were younger and Buck couldn’t rest, Steve used to climb to his bed and kiss him softly. Sometimes, when they had gotten an especially hard day, he jerked Bucky off to sleep.  However, tonight he was still painfully hard and decided it could be still a good idea provide himself some relief. _“Just don’t think about anything, and you will be ok”_ his mind tried to rationalize.

Steve’s hands returned to their job, caressing, pressing and jerking rhythmically his shaft. He closed his eyes helplessly.

But without his intervention, an image irrupted into Steve’s imagination. It was the man he loved, and at the same time it was not his beloved Bucky. Not really. He looked more like the assassin machine that fell on Sam’s car on that bridge. He remembered the way his body had reacted that day during their first encounter. Maybe it had been the adrenaline, or just the sheer impressive nature of that man, but from the first time he saw him, Steve had known the man was more than an opponent. Much more than his greatest challenge. He knew he _wanted_ the man.

Now, in his mind, the man’s impressive eyes looked haunted but decided, and his mouth was a thin line pressed in a hard and almost painful gesture. His strong thighs set around Steve’s own hips, constricting them, mimicking the exact posture they had last time they fought on the floor of the triskelion.

God. Steve still could feel the warm press of that man’s body, seated on his own as they wrestled, full of fury and agony. And then, his mind couldn’t avoid it.

The perfect picture of that man appeared in front of his closed eyes, still wearing parts of that black leather suit, as he rode him. The creature he was penetrating till his mere hilt was there, fast and desperate with his entangled hair and his hands still stained with Steve’s blood, smearing it all over them. Steve dreamed about running his hands all over that body, he would take a firm grip of the man’s waist, and yet, he couldn’t control his rampant sway. The man’s lower lip trembled lightly when the most brutal orgasm reached him, and then he poured a sigh, light and ripped like a spiderweb on Steve’s ear.  That was all that Steve needed to arch painfully his back on the mattress, as his right hand twisted one last time, spurting a hot squirt of semen all over his front and his blanket. God. He was sure that the neighbors had heard his scream.

Steve couldn’t even remember when he fell asleep until, many hours later, a soft sound woke him up. It was his emergency cellphone, vibrating on his bedside table

**“Steve”**

**“Yes? Sam?”**

**“Is everything ok, Cap? You sound a bit… different”**

**“Yes. Sure”** Luckily, the videocalling was not enabled this time. He had made quite a mess.

**“I think we have something”**

**“What do you mean?”** So many fake clues and a whole year praying for the soldier to make a mistake. Only one. Steve couldn’t afford be ingénue again.

**“We found him”**


	2. East

**“Steve, Turn on your TV now. Channel 3.”** Sam’s voice was deadly serious.

The news were displaying images of fire and dust escaping from a collapsed building in Vienna. _The UN_ , Steve thought. He knew the place and had been there more than once. Indeed, Captain america was aware of the event that was taking place before the fire. The king of Wakanda would transmit an international message. The participation of the African ruler would be the perfect opportunity for radical groups to create chaos and send a message of terror. That was not new; the man had been in the public eye due to his posture against supremacist groups, and seemed to be a decent person. However, Steve wished he couldn’t find a connection between the message, the fire and Bucky.

 **“Is Nat fine?”** Steve asked, visibly concerned. Barely, some hours ago, Natasha had called Steve and Sam to inform them about the quest for Bucky. Again, nothing relevant.

**“Of course, Cap. She was the one who informed me, but has been busy trying to obtain information about the incident”**

Natasha had been infiltrated in the city in order to find a link between extremist groups, gun-runners and Hydra remnants but for all they know, any of them could have planted the bomb before the message.

 **“How is Bucky connected to the explosion?”** Captain America questioned.

**“We know he was there, Cap. He’s on tape. I’m sending it to you”**

Was that even possible? Bucky had avoided cameras and detectors for decades. How could that be real now?

Steve slid his fingers expectantly over the screen of his virtual tablet and the video started to play.  The 4D format was strangely sharp. Actually, this technology was completely different to everything he had seen; not even Stark had it. The video contained almost five seconds of images of presidents and high officials signing papers and holding hands into the main hall of the UN office, but even among the crowd, something was undoubtedly true. _He_ was there.

Bucky. _His Bucky._ Alive and healthy. Walking among them. Wearing a grey suit and a black tie. His hair had been neatly tied on a bun and his eyes looked sharp and impressive. God. Bucky was looking as beautiful as ever. His mere image took away Steve’s breathe.

 **“Where is he now?”** Captain America demanded. His jaw clenched for an instant.

**“We don’t know it, but Nat is already interrogating the witnesses. We must be prepared for the worst scenario”**

**“Do you think… you think he did it?”**

**“No one will care about what I believe out there. He was a terrorist once, Steve. We need to be sure before acting”**

A terrorist. Steve felt his world crumbling under his feet. If Bucky was involved, the whole world would hunt him down. In fact, some countries had started to consider that “enhanced individuals” were more dangerous that helpful, and this would be a perfect moment for those governments to show their true colors. They wouldn’t care about Bucky’s innocence.  Deep in his heart, Steve was sure. His beloved Buck couldn’t have done it. He was a victim, not a perpetrator. Not anymore.

**“Is the video in the media, Sam?”**

**“No. Apparently, Nat has avoided it to become public somehow”**

_“Thanks Nat.”_ Steve’s mind pondered. Natasha was always their guardian angel… No. she was the opposite of an angel. Ruthless, efficient and lethal, but those were her best qualities when she intended protecting her team.

**“I’m leaving in ten minutes.” Steve lowered his gaze.   “I’ll make a stopover in our base to get the quinjet but this could get risky. You don’t have to come if you don’t…”**

Three solid knocks sounded on Steve’s main door. When he opened it, he didn’t need the cellphone anymore to talk to Sam Wilson. Who was standing right in front of him.

**“What do you mean, Cap? The quinjet is already on your roof, and I’m going with you.”**

 

48°12’36.11’’ N, 16°21’48.41’’ E

Vienna

The flight had been short but tense. By now, all the news were talking about the explosion but luckily, none of them linked the Winter Soldier to the incident. Not yet.

When they landed on the remaining complex, Natasha was already waiting for them. As they approached, Sam turned on his interference dispositive to block sounds and microwaves around them to avoid being spied. From now on, they could speak safely.

Nat was wearing a suede jacket and a blue dress, still stained with blood and saltpeter. Her hair was disheveled, and even behind his usual stoicism, she looked visibly worried. _“This is real bad”_ , Steve could read between lines from her expression. Without further thought, Steve reached out and held her close into his arms.

**“Are you hurt, Nat?”**

**“No, but this was close.”** Black Widow said, showing them her most pallid smile, as she let herself go of the hug, and after repeating a similar gesture with Sam, she continued. **“Anyway, we have bigger problems. There is no evidence that tell us that Barnes did it, but if the tape is shown to the media, he will be the obvious culprit. And yet Cap, there’s… something more”** Natasha’s eyes got shadowed for an ominous instant.

Suddenly, Sam’s visor flashed yellow **and he got rigid “Let’s discuss it somewhere else,”** he suggested. Some external dispositive was trying to interfere with their communication.

Steve understood  and pondered his options. Very likely, those who were trying to spy on them had been previously detected by Nat, so, he risked a question.

**“Tell me. How did you get the video?”**

**“I gave it to her”** An beautiful woman dressed in green walked from behind a wall, and was suddenly standing right in front of them. Her curly short hair had been slightly dyed in red, and his perfect ebony skin looked soft even after hours covered with dust and ashes from the explosion.   **“Your friend is really difficult to record, Captain Rogers. The elusive black cheetahs are far more easily tracked than him. You know?”** She smiled softly. **“I’m Nakia, and Natasha and I have worked together before. We’re old friends”**

Now everything made sense to Steve. Only a highly trained spy could film the legendary Winter Soldier, have the ability to contact to Natasha Romanoff before anyone, and even then, have the nerve to try to intercept their words.

 **“I’m honored to meet you. As you see, we intend no harm, since our only goal is stop the bombardier and clear up the events to help our friend”** Steve added politely. However, he needed to investigate the intentions of this woman about Bucky.

As if she could read Steve’s mind, Nakia declared **“Natasha had told me about your quest, and I wish I could do more for you. Personally, I’m in a deep debt with your friend, and as a wakandan, I have only respect for him”**

 **“Wait. Do you _know_ the Winter Soldier?”** Sam asked.

 **“It would be an honor learning from him, but actually, I’m here because he’s the greatest spy I’ve ever seen, and he did something impressive. He trapped the _real_ bombardier. The man is a sokovian ex-military who apparently wanted to destabilize us, and Sergeant Barnes simply knocked him down and sent him to us like a gift” **Nakia flashed a lethal and yet cute smile **“but at the same time he took something from our king”**

Steve’s eyes went wide and a sudden rage surged from his insides. **“You’re chasing him anyway”**

 **“It’s more complicated, Captain. I’ll show you.”** Nakia explained. **“I was looking for an encrypted list of high diplomats and military which are colluded with Hydra. One of my contacts was about to give it to me, and we would announce it to the world once we confirm it but right then, the explosion occurred”**

 **“Are you sure he’s got the list, Nakia?”** Natasha asked, raising lightly an eyebrow.

**“The list was on a nano chip. After the explosion, I scanned every person here using wakandan technology, and the list was nowhere to be seen. Only an elite spy would know how to hide its radiofrequency, and make it untraceable. Apparently, your friend wanted those names so badly that he infiltrated himself into an UN meeting, took dispositive from the corpse of my contact, as he evaded the security, caught the bombardier and ran away under the noses of two of the most effective spies of the world.”**

**“He did all of it during the fire?”** Steve wasn’t sure he could do the same in the middle of an emergency. For a second, he felt  _proud_ of that man.

 **“No, Captain. He stole the list right after he…”**  Nakia stuttered a bit. Natasha looked at her, with a hint of surprise in her eyes.

 **“After what?”** Steve questioned coldly, but then a deep voice behind him answered. Steve could have sworn he had seen that man before in the news. 

**“After he saved me and my father.”**

 

 

34°50'01" S, 56° 10'03" W

Montevideo,

The saleswoman turned around, and smiled as she saw her new client waiting for his turn. He was holding a basket with some mangos, avocados, a bar of black bread and a bag of plums. The candent midday sun drew a lovely shade of pink over his cheeks, This man was by far, the most beautiful thing there, even in front of the pretty scenery of Sundays market.

 **“Hace bonito día, ¿No?”** She stated, casually, as she received the basket for packing the items.

 **“Por supuesto, Señora. ¡Bellísimo!”** The man smiled. His Spanish had always been impeccable

**“I haven’t seen you in this neighborhood before, guapo. What’s your name?**

**“Arturo Zambrano.”** He answered with calculated shyness. **“I moved here from Quito some weeks ago.”**

 **“That’s great!  I have some relatives there. What do you do for living?”** The woman inquired as she packed the avocados in a newspaper cone.

**“I’m into private security.”**

**“I can see it. There are not many men as strong-looking as you.”** Even behind the tinted aviator glasses, there was something very distinctive in his eyes. **“However, you look a bit lonely too, boy. If you need to make new friends in this city, maybe you would like to go and drink a _mate_ with me and some pals someday?”**

**“Sorry. I’m afraid I’m not worth your time, Madam”**

**“No one have ever rejected me so gallantly, Honey. To be honest you are a real vision, but I had never seen a man so handsome suffering for love.”** She added.

The man brow creased a bit and finally, his questioning look became a sad smile. **“I guess I’m just too easy to read. Everyone I love is in my native city, and I’m a bit lonely.  It would be a pleasure joining you and your friends someday.”** He received the shopping bag and counted his money. Some steps behind, an old radio announced the noon news. Apparently, the sokovian terrorist who started a fire at UN building had presented a defense for mental illness. Why not? Some of his declarations were quite unearthly. He said a ghost stopped him. A man who defeated singlehandedly the most notorious sokovian paramilitary leader and didn’t even leave a fingerprint had been a nice story to tell yesterday, but today, that was not important anymore, since some man named Karl Kraus had been found skinned under a tree in a remote village in Iceland. The guy had been a prominent banker, but minutes after some shepherds discovered of the corpse, someone leaked information about his nexuses with a whole bunch of criminal organizations.

The man’s heart skipped a beat. He remembered the last time he saw Kraus. How could he forget it? The motherfucker had been one of the highest officers during his beginnings in Hydra. After every successful mission he loved to take shreds of Winter’s clothes and locks of his long hair as a trophy. He abhorred him.

The man who named himself Arturo Zambrano remembered how during a mission in Canada, Winter had accidentally stained with a victim’s blood one of the expensive boots of Kraus and in response, the commander stripped him with a knife in front of his soldiers and made him stand totally naked all night on the snow. Naturally, a newcomer like his old self shouldn’t have an opinion about it, but against his beliefs this was not order, just pain. The Soldier had not done anything bad and he shouldn’t pay for it.

The young recruit had asked for the night guard shift and silently, when everyone else had gone to sleep he approached to the Winter Soldier, whose lips were already blue, and his eyelashes were covered by snow. _Poor kid_ , he had thought. Under all the metal and leather, he looked so young and almost innocent. Without further consideration, he took off his white army parka jacket and slid it quietly on the soldier’s shoulders. Only without his jacket, he really felt the atrocious cold. The Asset’s eyes had barely moved during his punishment, but Brock Rumlow would never forget the way those precious jewels sparkled at him when he closed the jacket zipper and covered his naked body.

The soldier shouldn’t move himself, but there were no specific instructions about being transferred by other member of the team, so, Brock had lifted him in his arms and carried him to his tent. They would have five hours before the guard shift, and the young Rumlow would make them count. Already there, he deposited Winter seated on his sleeping bag and started unpacked his bag. He extracted a towel from it, and dried the melting snow from that wonderful naked body. Then, he took his thermic blanket and threw it around the boy’s legs.  Finally came a little bag, containing some cocoa and milk powder. He poured all of it into his steel canteen and heated it quickly in his electric camping stove. When it was ready, he offered the liquid to the soldier.  

Now, Kraus was dead. The bastard got what he deserved and Brock had a very concise idea about the identity of the executor. However, he’d gladly kill anyone just to hear one more time the words that his Wint muttered through his bluish lips that night in his tent. The very first words he told him.

_“Spasibo… Agent Ramlou”_

**“I recognize a friendly man when I see one, even when he’s a bit lonely”** The saleswoman was still talking to him **“But don’t worry, this world is huge… And who knows? Possibly you’ll find what you’re looking for, and real soon.”**

Brock Rumlow was about to say something when suddenly, something vibrated into the pocket of his cargo pants. A message appeared on his phone screen. It came from an encrypted number.

_“Now, all of them will fall”_

**“¡Gracias, señora!”** He said, as he started walking away, trying to regain his breathe.  **“I will.”**


	3. Southeast

34°58′43″ S, 54°55′59″ O

Punta del Este

Staying too long in a place makes you easy to recognize; that’s a habit that must be avoided. It can sound foolish, but one of the most basic spy skills is just that simple. Turn yourself a nomad. However, the man that called himself Arturo Zambrano couldn’t avoid stablishing his personal base -He always avoided the term _home_ \- in the Uruguayan coast. Food was great and people reminded him to his mother’s family, but more than that. Now, he needed to gather some information nearby.

During his whole trip to Punta del Este, Brock Rumlow tuned the news in the multichannel radio of his silver gray _mirai_. God! Brock loved that car. It hasn’t been the first gift that Winter made him, and certainly, it was not the most memorable, since every night, his hands still remembered their last time together, His fragrance. His eyes. His soft moans.

But he just couldn’t complain about the car. At all.

News was as boring as always, and the death of Kraus had been attributed to a fraction of the mafia he worked with. _Newbies_. Rumlow thought, but some minutes ago, just a half day after the first assassination. A second one took place.

This time, news didn’t come from the police section, but from the socials. Synthia Schmidt, one of the most well-known, beautiful and rich German heiresses had died in her sleep in one of her Pyrenean castles. Rumlow turned up the volume.

Apparently, she suffered a respiratory attack, and her lungs collapsed due to her weak health. The journalist conjectured that the cold climate of the mountains have triggered her condition.

 _Condition? Come on._ Rumlow snorted, as he listened for an instant more about the spectacular funeral, and the expensive designer clothing of the assistants. Synthia Schmidt couldn’t have been healthier… Or crueler. His stomach flinched at the memory.

He remembered her. She had been a strange creature indeed. The only daughter of the Red Skull himself was very similar to her father in everything that mattered. She had a taste to destroy everything and everyone around her without remorse. However, her soft point had always been the beauty.

Synthia was an avid art collector, and her mansions were always full of Greek and Egyptian art. Most of it, stolen by her father’s agents. Anyone could say that she had a beautiful aspect too, with her long wavy red hair, and her impeccable body. However, Rumlow couldn’t be less interested, and that was exactly the problem.

Three years ago, Brock Rumlow was already a legend in Hydra, and as the Handler of the Asset, he used to respond directly to Alexander Pierce. The arrogant and handsome agent used to come and go without even looking at Fräulein Schmidt, despite her efforts to seduce him. Sometimes, Brock found amusing how his indifferent attitude tended to exasperate that stupid rich girl. Who cared? He only had eyes for a creature infinitely more beautiful and incomparably sweet. A real artwork, so exquisite that could cause envy to those Greek statues.

Brock had been going to many missions with the Soldier and his efficiency was unbeatable. Their last shared mission in Italy had been a piece of cake, and Rumlow was happy… Too much.

He should have known better.

He should have foreseen that.

That time, he had descended to the building basements to attend the Asset, almost glowing in happiness, when Synthia approached, and stood in front of him with an arm across his way.

 **“Hallo, _lieber Brock_ ”** she purred next to him in her dense accent. **“You look specially good today, You know?”**

Internally, he rolled his eyes to that brat **“Thanks, Fräulein Schmidt. I keep going”** He said, and kept walking through the corridor.

 **“I know it. You think I don’t, but it’s pretty obvious. You like it!”** She croaked furiously.

 **“Sorry. What do I like?”** She’d need more than that to make him loose his nerve.

 **“It. The Asset. That pitiful attempt of a man”** She pointed at the room where Wint was waiting for Brock to take care of him.

 **“What do you mean, Synthia?”** Brock did his best to avoid punching her.

**“Just what I’ve said. I’ve seen how you look at that thing, but don’t worry. I’m not telling anyone… If you cooperate”**

**“Go fuck yourself.”** He hissed.

**“Maybe I don’t have proofs, but my word against yours will cause a lot of noise around us. Don’t you think?”**

In that moment, Rumlow pondered seriously the possibility to make her disappear. She wouldn’t be the first person to be thrown in pieces to the Rhein. However, he just stared at her. Synthia was not any anonymous girl. If anything went wrong, not only him, but Winter would wish to be dead before the end.

 **“As I see it, if you don’t collaborate, you’ll have two options.”** She smiled, pointing at the security cameras. **“First: You do something stupid, I die and you get blamed. So, automatically, you die and your precious Asset will be alone. Before I go, I'll suggest it to be given to Kraus. Sure you know how he looks at its sweet little ass… And second: You don’t kill me, but you reject me, and I’ll ask Alexander for a nice birthday gift. It will become my new pet for one or two days. Then you’ve wished him to be sent to Kraus.”** She had licked her lips seductively. Rumlow found it disgusting **“By the way. Do you think Pierce will be pleased when he discovers the way you treat his asset when he’s not around?”**

 **“What do you want?”** Brock wouldn’t let her hurt Winter. Not if the price was so low to pay. He could kill her later.

Synthia dragged him to an abandoned interrogatory room, next to Winter’s cell.

**“On your back now. Pants off. You’ll do anything I ask for. You got it?”**

Rumlow had looked at her with his most vicious stare. _“I’m gonna kill you. Not today, but you’re dead”_ he thought.

**“Yes Fräulein Schmidt”**

**“Call me Syn”**

It was painful. Almost grotesque. When he finished, all he wanted to do was to throw up. To scrub his skin until it fell off. ... To cry and to disappear, and then he remembered he had something much more important to do. So, he dressed himself and just walked away from Synthia’s mocking stare, holding the tray with food for Winter.

When he entered to the room, Winter’s eyes were empty.

 **“I heard everything.”** He murmured quietly.

 **“I’m sorry, Wint”** Brock never thought he could felt so ashamed.

**“Did she hurt you?”**

Brock’s guilt and anger diluted a bit when he heard his angel’s words. **“No, baby. I’ll be fine.”**

 **“It was my fault. They always hurt you because of me”**. That distraught look upon his face was something that no one in Hydra had seen, but if Brock’s plan went correctly, no one would again.

 **“No.”** Rumlow looked at him fiercely as he cupped Winter’s cheeks into his hands. **“Listen to me. It’s not your fault, and it will never be. I do what I do because I have a choice, and no matter what, I’ll always choose you. Also, I only want you _mia vita_ , but all of us must do some sacrifices to survive. I’ll be ok.”**

Sometimes, agent Rumlow forgot how this creature in his arms was no damsel in distress, but a tiger. It got crystal clear when Wint closed the distance between them and murmured **“I know. I’ll kill her someday”** against Brock’s mouth.

Rumlow remembered how, barely three hours after that, his beloved had been taken away from him, stripped by technicians, and put into cryo for two and a half years. During the most insupportable 912.5 days in his life. Brock became the right hand of Alexander Pierce, and since Synthia had sated her insane curiosity, she lost all interest in him. Fräulein Schmidt never stopped being one of most notorious heads of Hydra but eventually, she found more interesting to make a living as a socialite. She married some German baron, and used her free time sponsoring antiquities and slaves trade. Brock had not heard about her until this day.

As he drove to the shipping area of the port, Rumlow’s mind continued between the lines, it was pretty obvious for any high trained spy that her death was not natural. One of the favorite assassination techniques of Hydra had been introduced by the soviets, and the Winter Soldier was the best applying it to his victims.

 _The white death_ , they used to call it. It was a pretty simple and old recipe. The victim’s mouth or nose got filled with snow until they drown with it. For all Brock knew, it was a nice way to make people suffer, and most of all. If it was correctly made, snow melted before forensics could detect torture, and everything seemed pretty natural.

Winter had a truly poetic sense of justice. Synthia Schmidt, the motherfucker had died drown in snow. _So vintage_ , Brock thought. - _And, so appropriate. I love you, Wint_ \- and looked at his keychain. The golden nautilus reflected the afternoon sun of Punta del Este. He imagined himself and Winter walking on the nearest beach like all those couples that kissed and held hands. Above the concern and the remaining fear for him, he just felt an immense pride for his beloved.

The man parked the car and walked through the port until the huge vaults of transportation companies. A discrete attitude, the correct attire and a false identification granted him access to the storage area of one of them. He deactivated remotely cameras and looked for company. Safe.

Already into the building, Brock looked for one of the vault corridors, and directed himself to the last block. He used some of his untraceable card keys to open a specific storage and entered.  As he expected, the vault remained untouched. He went directly to the items that had been left there some years ago.

As any respectable spy, Rumlow had a considerable number of storages all over the world with equipment, documentation and cash. This time, he didn’t need any of them, but used the opportunity to take everything. As he counted the items, he inhaled deeply and thanked his old self for being an absolute paranoid.

Before his eyes laid three portfolios packed with almost twenty million dollars, two boxes filled with some of his favorite armament and, by far, the most important: His good old communication system. It contained a portable transmitter and receptor which operated independently from any satellital system, and was virtually untraceable. He took the objects and slid out after letting an envelope containing the payment worth of ten years for his empty vault. _Just in case_.

Once out of the perimeter, he got on his car and drove through the coast again. If Winter was eliminating all those sick bastards of Hydra, Brock Rumlow would be by his side. He opened the window of his vehicle and let the wind play with his silky black hair. He looked at himself through the back mirror and smirked.

Brock had always been a bit vain, and now, thanks to his beloved one, his wounds had completely healed; his skin and hair repaired themselves. God! Even if he didn’t get as bulky as Rogers, now he looked like a man in his late thirties, and he felt much healthier and stronger now. Even his mind was faster than before. Some days after he had applied himself the serum he proved he could easily lift his car with a fucking hand, and learn Arabic in hours. However, his problems were not over. He needed to look for his lover, and no one just uses his phone and calls the legendary Winter Soldier.

 

34°54′24″ S, 56°12′30″ O

Montevideo

Rumlow got into his temporary base. Made a sandwich and turned on the communication system, as he munched it. He had been mentally trying to solve the technical problems of the communication when against all odds, they fixed themselves, when his cellphone vibrated. Brock frowned lightly and looked at the encrypted message. He couldn’t be a luckier bastard.

_“For me. For you. Hope you like our present. Many more will come.”_

…

48°12’36.11’’ N, 16°21’48.41’’ E

Vienna

Prince T’Challa’s black suit was still stained with blood and dust. Nonetheless, he was one of the most impressive men Steve had seen.

**“I’m honored to meet you, Captain Rogers.”**

**“Your majesty”** Steve just replied, nodding as courtly as expectant.

**“Sergeant Barnes helped us greatly and I wouldn’t be alive if not for him. Neither my father, the king. However, as you already know, he’s got something we need. So I propose this. We’ll use all the technology at our reach to help you find him.”**

**“He is a wanted man. What makes you think we’ll deliver him to you?”**

**“Maybe, I’m not explaining my point, Captain. We have no interest about him. Our government only requires the list. Sergeant Barnes will be safe”** The idea seemed too tempting to be true.

**“How can I be sure?”**

**“Because you have my word, Captain.”**

Clearly, Steve Rogers was not convinced, but then Nakia spoke **“Hydra has been trafficking with weapons and persons, but now, they’re trying to get some of our… mineral resources. We don’t know who those diplomats are, but it’s our duty to take them to justice, and your friend has the only existent proof of their true affiliation. We know he’s been coerced to make terrible things, but it’s not his fault, and maybe, if we find out where he is and why he needs the list, we could help him too.”**

 **“With due respect, Sir. What’s the problem? In case he would eliminate those guys, he would be just doing justice”** Sam intervened

 **“We can’t let it happen, since we need to investigate what they know about Wakanda.  As I told, We’ll just take hold of the list, and Sergeant Barnes won’t be our business anymore.”** T’Challa’s tone shifted lightly **“Think about it. Now, your friend could be after the last heads of Hydra. They will know it, and won’t let their last chance to recapture him. He’s in danger.”**

T’Challa would never tell them how, right after the explosion, among dust and chaos, he thought he and his father would die, and then he opened his eyes and found himself being carried on someone’s shoulder. His father had been already placed in a safe place. When the man pulled him down, Prince T’Challa only could see the most impressive gray eyes, looking at him before disappearing. For a second, he got paralyzed.

 **“Who are you?”** The prince had yelled then. Probably, Sergeant Barnes was in danger, but something was clear. T'Challa had never known someone as fearless as this man.

**“No one”**


	4. South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be a bomb. Hope you like it!

48°12’36.11’’ N, 16°21’48.41’’ E

Vienna

The High commissioner of the UN declared three days of official mourning for explosion victims and informed his office would do anything in his power to protect the vulnerable Wakanda and its people. King T’Chaka accepted his wise words with a smile and he declared that he would open the frontiers of his country next month.

As the King’s conference was taking place, Prince T’Challa and his royal bodyguards made the arrangements for their departure. Apparently, the security chief was an imposing woman who held a very distinctive spear and a golden necklace. The rest of the group was also formed by female warriors, whose necklaces were made of silver and when Captain America got a closer look, he could observe something that few people in the world could notice.

Vibranium. Not only their spears were made of it, but also their uniforms were coated by a thin layer of vibranium threads, forming a surprisingly advanced protection system. In that moment, Steve knew that Wakanda and its people were much more than what could be seen.

 **“The Dora Milaje”** Natasha whispered to her friends. **“Those are some of the most fearsome elite units in the world. Maybe they're even better than STRIKE.** ” Steve hoped they never had to fight against them.

Right before leaving, Prince T’Challa was called by his father. The act was private, and some minutes after, when he returned, his eyes were visible moist and he was wearing a beautiful tribal necklace around his neck. _A present from King T’Chaka_ , Steve mused.

 **“Captain. We’re leaving to Iceland. According to our information, _Hydra’s Asset_ could have been involved in a murder there. Will you and your friends come with us?” **She stated. God. This wouldn't be easy.

  **“Thanks. We have a quinjet waiting for us, but we'll go in your direction. Ma'am,  Prince T’Challa”**

 **“We haven’t announced it yet, captain, but from now on, It’s King T’Challa, and not Prince T’Challa”** The captain of Royal Guard clarified, displaying her spear menacingly. 

 **“Understood. And from now on, it’s Sergeant Barnes, and not Hydra’s Asset, Ma’am”** Steve replied coldly.

 

34°54′24″ S, 56°12′30″ O

Montevideo

The pre-recorded message appeared in one of his coded frequencies. The STRIKE team one. The thin hairs on Rumlow’s nape rose up when he realised it.

This could be a trap. An especially cruel one.

Or not.

The red light of his dispositive pulsed three times more, just like STRIKE original members used to do when they received an internal message. Now, Rumlow knew he couldn’t wait any longer. If Winter was calling him, he could always act beyond reason and prudence. He connected the receptor and listened carefully. It wasn’t Wint. Instead, a deep and well-known voice cut the air as the message started.

Brock smirked fondly.

_…Quel bastardo_

**“Hello, Boss. You’ve been as quick to react as you are tall. Send my regards to our lovely colleague. Please, tell him I still admire his style. More than that, you REALLY need to remind him there’s still some office work left. Will you tell him, _Rocky_?”**

Rumlow knew that even with their advanced system, nothing was guaranteed so, he confirmed immediately the message reception, still without delivering his coordinates. A light flashed.

_Seen_

A second pre-recorded message from the same remitent arrived. The GPS on screen showed the same message: Unknown location

**“There’s something you need to know. Our boss was subcontracted by someone we thought in bankrupt, but they still have more than enough resources. Maybe our colleague could be interested”**

**“Who is it?... Rollins? Wait!”** Brock took the speaker, but the message was finished.

Suddenly, a rhythmic pulse started to hammer into Rumlow’s ears. _Morse code_. Jack had always been a sucker for those old school tricks.

**_“Samantha. Harris.”_**

**_S. H._ **

The code name for it. The real one could be anyone’s, and that was exactly its real power. No one knew its name or location. Rumor said that only the higher heads of the organization had parts of its true identity, but none had the entire information.

That individual was still alive, infiltrated beyond borders and governments. Holding an unimaginable power and hiding on plain sight. Brock paled.

 _“Winter is going after someone so legendary that possibly, only Alexander Pierce knew personally. Wint is alone and he can’t win”_ Brock thought as he re-analyzed the message.

**_The Supreme Hydra_ **

 

32° 6' 33.58'' N, 34° 51' 19.70'' E

Tel Aviv

The man got out the lift of his neoclassic mansion. He was possibly 95 years old, but looked even older and more fragile wearing a robe and slippers when he entered to his bedchamber and prepared to sleep. He looked through the huge window and sighed.

The night was cold, and full of stars, just like he preferred it. Suddenly he remembered he had left his cup of chamomile infusion getting cooler on the bedside table. He took a sip as he closed the curtains. It was perfect.

 **“Where is the Supreme Hydra?”** the nocturne wind transported the voice on his back until his ears. It was as soft and deep as he remembered.

 **“I knew you’d come, my little one. I was waiting for you.”** The man replied.

Anton Trojak had been one of the Asset’s oldest memories. Even before he could recognize himself as the Fist of Hydra, the Soldier could identify Trojak’s face; his green eyes, and his distinctive Slavonian nose were deeply engraved in his memory. Back in those days, the man was a prodigious young scientist who used to concoct the drugs that made the Soldier docile and slow when it was required. His substances could also freeze Winter’s blood when his body was taken to cryogenic chambers, or made him appear lusciously excited and tempting when Pierce wanted him. That was old story. By now, this guy was better known as the founder of a pharmaceutical emporium TrojakPharm, and one of the richest men alive.

Possibly, Trojak could be the only living person who had witnessed the whole transformation of Bucky Barnes into someone else. Every time he pumped into his veins some new substance, he showed a peculiar enthusiasm; the pain and the terrible damage to the Soldier’s brain were perfectly nontranscendent to him.

 **“You were my best creation. A god among men. What can I do for you, my child?”** He got closer to the Soldier, trying to reach for his soft cheeks. 

 **“ _Where_ is the Supreme hydra?” **Winter repeated. He didn’t even flinch when the man took a syrinx from the folds of his robe and tried to stab him with it. Simply avoided the hit, lifted his whole body with his right hand and throw him onto his bed.

 **“Your security is neutralized and your time on earth is over. You can do this easily, or I can go after your grandchildren too.”** The soldier declared plainly.

 **“You won’t. From the moment we made you our puppet, we knew you wouldn’t take innocent lives without fighting. I put all my effort making you docile, and I finally achieved it.”** Trojak hissed. “ **You’re the perfect killing machine, but that’s not the only reason why you are so special. By now, you must be going crazy… my boy”**

Winter observed the old man with a mixture of tedium and pity. However, he let him talk a little more.

 **“I always knew you were more than The Asset. Your self-preservation instinct made something amazing. Thanks to it, you developed two complete and integrated personalities coexisting inside your body.”** The man made a light pause **“You _really_ are the Winter Soldier, as much as you are James Buchanan Barnes. We understood it, and yet, it was terribly difficult for us to make both of you obey.”**

**“I already know I’m not one single being anymore. Should I care?”**

**“Yes, you should, _Moje dijete_. Do you remember the time you tried to help those little girls in Siberia? We all knew you weren’t programmed to do it, but it was so funny to observe. They were part of some of our collateral programs. You know how the soviets loved their experiments, and we just… let them be” **He snorted.

 **“I still don’t remember it”.** Winter lied.

 **“Those orphan girls of the Red Room were the last... persons to know your humanity.”** He stuttered **“That was the last time you fought against our programming, because every time you did it, we improved our drugs to bend your will. Possibly, you don’t... remember it, but you failed miserably to save them, and our drugs got... you pliant and perfect after that... It was glorious...”**

Trojak made a pause, and he considered he had never talked like this to his creation. Maybe The Asset couldn’t fully understand his genius, but he continued **“When we scanned your brain after thatmission, we knew the damage had been excessive. To protect yourself from those memories you fully unfolded your two personalities… They… can coexist behind our programming, but now that we’ve cut the supply of drugs, you must be feeling… miserable. Maybe, we shouldn’t have let it happen. Those poor little things were already condemned, and when they died from hunger and exhaustion in the... tundra, your last shred of hope died with... with them.”**

**“At least, you won’t be able to do it again. You’ll never create a Winter Soldier again”**

**“You know we have done it. All I need is the correct ingre... dients and the right words. Project Nautilus is al...ready in march”** Trojak frowned. Something was wrong.

 **“Who knows those words? Who runs the project”** Wint finally smirked, triumphant.

 **“Only The Supreme Hydra knows all. Alexander Pierce and your last manager knew the original words, but I…I’ve already… created”** the man said, horrified. **“What’s happening?... Why am I…?”**

**“I put it in your tea before you arrived. As you can see you’re not the only one who understands some chemistry.”**

**“There’s no such thing as truth se... rum!”**

**“Not made by Hydra, but I have many friends around the world, and you had a lot of nice ingredients in your vault.”** The soldier smiled sweetly.  Trojak could have sworn he looked like one of those creatures from his land’s fairytales: pale, beautiful and ready to steal his soul. **“Now. Tell me all you know quickly and I give you my word, your death will look like an accident. Maybe your family and your investors won't have to know about your past”**

38 minutes after, the soldier was about to get out of Trojak’s bedroom with all the information and the items he needed. Suddenly, he turned around smiling, already on the window’s edge. He looked at his creator one last time, lying on his bed, already paralyzed and mute, but conscious.

**“I’ll let you know this, since you will die soon, alone and in pain: I never was your perfect creation. I can escape from your full control, and even under Hydra, I never stopped trying.”**

The man’s eyes were exorbitantly opened. His legacy! His greatest achievement of the perfect soldier had been a lie. _“How?”_ He seemed to scream.

 **“You missed a crucial ingredient in your recipe; you always considered it the most useless and primitive function of mammalian brain: Love.”** He claimed, almost happily **“Your _perfect weapon_ has loved with all his heart. I love Brock Rumlow. I love Steve Rogers. I saved them both and I will destroy Hydra for them” **He added triumphant **“and for me.”**

 **“By the way,”** Winter purred, right before crossing the threshold **“I _did_ save one of those Siberian girls. She is much stronger than you think; she is safe now and is taking care of Captain America. Your madness took everything from her too, but now she will be there to watch me burn Hydra to the ground.”**

 **“Romanova…”** Trojak’s dry lips seemed to say. However, no one would ever hear his voice again.

 


	5. Southwest

64°08'10.46'' N,  21°56'00.30'' W

**Reykjavik**

**“We’re here in representation of the UN. Karl Kraus’ death is an international security issue and we will use your morgue”** Nakia had simply stated to the local police, and no one even thought about stopping her. Furthermore, when the woman was followed by a tiny African army, her King, two menacing agents and Captain America himself, every single employee abandoned the morgue and left them alone for good.

As The King and his guard looked for evidence, Natasha and Nakia started traducing official files. Then, Sam and Steve uncovered the corpse of Kraus, exposed on a lab table. For a second, all of them stood in an ominous silence.

The news hadn’t exaggerated. The entire skin had been removed with chirurgical precision, and among the red net of muscles and fat of what once was Karl Kraus, only the lips remained perfectly untouched.

Steve was the first to notice it. Then, he barely glanced at his team.

 **“Oh, god!”**  Sam whizzed, and the arcades took over his chest.

 **“Are you OK?”** Nat asked. The other nodded and gestured the nearest bathroom. When he walked away, Captain Rogers went with him.

Once into the bathroom, Sam turned on the dispositive of safe communication.

 **“What happens, Steve?** He whispered.

**“Something is very wrong. Why would Buck want the names of those officers?”**

**“Vengeance; we already know it. Possibly Kraus was one of those were the guys that tortured Barnes.”** Sam replied.

 **“No. I mean. Why would he risk himself getting close enough to skin Kraus? Buck can avoid being seen easily. If he wanted anyone dead he could just use his sniper skills. If he wanted him to suffer, he could poison him, but he tortured the man. _He wanted him to speak_. Pierce is dead and people in the list are high Hydra officers. Buck is looking for information about something, but what… and why?” **Steve mused

 **“Nice trick, Wilson.”** Natasha entered to the bathroom **“Don’t worry about our friends. Apparently some files in Kraus’ possession suggest he was part of a vibranium trafficking network.  We have time.”** Then, she paused **“But, Steve… I remember my training in the Red Room. It erases your humanity. It breaks you, and what Hydra did to Barnes was even worse. If I were him, I’d do the same. Let’s avoid expectations”**

Steve reclined himself against the wall. **“When we were seven or eight, Bucky used to pick apples from our scholar garden and gave them to me. Our teacher told him that fresh fruit could improve my health and he kept doing it until the day he shipped to war. Maybe it didn’t make a difference, but he never stopped trying, he… He’s not only strong and fast. Buck is the most gentle man I know, and I can’t believe he did _this_ without a good reason.”**

**“I know he’s got a good reason”**

**“What do you mean, Nat?”**

**“Maybe, he is still picking apples for you”**

**34°54′24″ S, 56°12′30″ O**

**Montevideo**

Brock Rumlow munched his sandwich, and checked again the security of his line. Safe. Minutes after the last message, the Morse code restarted.

 **“Use _our fucking_ channel” **Rollins typed.

There were just two persons in this putrid world that Brock Rumlow trusted, and Jack Rollins was one of them. The former commander used the frequency only known by double agents belonging to STRIKE and Hydra Special Units. _La crème de la crème._ By now, they were the only living members of the group.

 **“Glad to hear you, _Bastardo_ ” **Brock greeted

 **“Same here, _Rocky_ ”** The wide and extremely infrequent smile of Jack Rollins was almost perceptible through the line.

**“How did you know about SH?”**

**“Do you remember _the engineer_?” **Rollins asked.

_Oh, God._

Edgar Lascombe was a French scientist who had been widely known in Hydra as _The Engineer_ , since he was not only the man who designed the original metal arm for the Winter Soldier. Sure… It required multiple and painful repetitions that almost eliminated The Asset’s left arm’s remains, but he succeeded, and from the moment he implanted the first needle inside Wint’s bones until the moment he painted the red star, he never looked the Soldier like nothing more than a lab rat. Rumor said that even legends like Arnim Zola and Anton Trojak were captivated by The Engineer’s macabre inventive. He had been one of the most brilliant Hydra scientists, as well as one of the masterminds behind the whole Insight Project, but he was more than that.

Lascombe was one of the Hydra heads who infiltrated deepest in SHIELD, and one of the closest colleagues and mentors of Alexander Pierce.

 _Who cared?_ Rumlow snorted. The guy had died fifteen years ago, and Brock only remembered him as the man who had tortured and mutilated his love for years, way before he became Wint’s handler.

**“Sure. What about him?”**

**“He had a daughter. Do you remember her too?”**

Sure. Greta Lascombe had been an ungainly teenager when Rumlow enrolled into SHIELD, and during those years her official crush had been the young and handsome officer Rollins, but the man had been too busy playing with his knives to look at her. Apparently, she never knew her father and Jack were double agents. Better for her. A decade ago, she had been sent to Belgium, where she made a PhD in linguistics and got married with some nice guy but Jack and Greta had always remained as good friends.

**“I remember her. What’s wrong?”**

**“She helped me through my moving. She used her cellar for some of my furniture, and she helped me to find the apartment where I’m currently living.”**

Traduction: Despite the painful realization that two of the most important persons in her life were Hydra goons, Greta helped Jack. She hid him, and used her resources to keep him safe. Apparently she relocated him too.

For a whole year Brock thought his best friend was dead but apparently, he was safe and sound, and for what he could read between lines, Rollins was very far from any apartment. Brock could almost picture Jack in some remote area, living in a farm, or something similar and staying in touch with someone who actually cared for him. Rumlow smiled as the lucky bastard spoke again.

**“You’ll see. Seven months ago, _our amazing colleague_ needed some coffee and he entered to the engineer’s place. Apparently, his grandson found _him_.”**

Last time Brock had seen Greta, she was still happily married, and became a mother. By now, her child should be 4 years old.

**“How do you know it was _Our Colleague_?”**

**“The boy said he dreamed about a ninja angel, who entered to his house.”** Rumlow couldn’t avoid roaring with laughter through the line. No one had described so perfectly his Winter. **“Apparently, the angel was friendly and returned the kid to his bedroom without harm. He was carrying a black box with a funny octopus on it.”**

 _“It was obviously one of those security containers that Hydra suckers loved_ ” Rumlow thought.

**“The child mentioned how the ninja angel walked into his grandfather’s office.”**

**“And?”**

**“The Engineer himself designed its security system, and you know what it means”** Brock gulped; Winter was unstoppable **“My friend was worried about her family, but I guaranteed that if our colleague wished all the coffee, no one could stop him to take the whole machine. She told me that once, her father showed her a container with electronic archives; he presumed that his safety would be compromised if it got lost. My friend believed those were SHIELD things, but when she discovered his father’s… hobbies, she took them into the safest place she knew and tried to forget them.”** Rollins paused. Clearly, the core of the message was next.

**“Even with her knowledge as a linguist, she knew the documents were too coded and fragmented to be deciphered. However, she told me that some words made reference to SH. After our Colleague left, the container was gone. So, tell me. What is he looking for, boss?”**

**“I don’t know it, but I can confirm what you already knew.”** Rumlow’s voice sounded more raspy than usual **“If the ninja angel wasn’t friendly, all of them would be dead.”**

**“SH won’t be happy if Our Colleague wants more coffee, _Rocky_.”**

**“I know. However, you’re safe. Have you seen any of the office guys?”**

Rollins sighed. Brock knew by heart this tired and almost exasperated sound **“Not personally, but my friend told me about one of them.”**

**“Who?”**

**“The Hunter”**

Rumlow inhaled deeply, and continued, knowing there was no going back

**“Where?”**

**“Ushuaia”**

**“Are you sure?”**

**“No”**

**“Everyone thinks he’s dead”**

**“Everyone thinks _We_ are dead”**

Only silence

**“Will I see you again, _Bastardo_?”**

**“It depends on what our colleague does. And boss... Be careful.”**

When Rollins hang up, Rumlow knew exactly what he was about to do.

He would go hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, people! Semester has ended, and this story will have a lot of action. Hope you like it!!


	6. West

Ushuaia

**54°48′23″ S, 68°12′10″ O**

Sergei Kravinoff had never been a man easy to track. Despite he had told everyone in Hydra about his noble ancestors in Russia and his enormous wealth, little was known about him. Anyway, nothing more needed to be known, since his reputation as a sadist and ruthless agent preceded him.

Most of people into the organization knew him simply as _Kraven the Hunter_.

Kravinoff’s piercing dark eyes, his black hair commonly tied in a tight ponytail and his bulky frame were part of his trademark look, but none of it was as distinctive as the rest of his usual attire. During most of his missions, the man used to wear massive fur coats, as well as necklaces made of claws and fangs coming from his preys. Many of his pendants were easily recognizable as part of rhinos, hippopotamuses, big felines and a wide variety of bears. However, some of them had a source even darker.

As his nickname revealed, Kraven was an expert hunter who had learned from the Asset itself some of the most legendary skills during their years together. Apparently, Kraven had transferred the Asset from the soviet branch of Hydra and when it came to destroy, no one was so patient and cold blooded. Kraven had shot his way to the highest ranks of Hydra, killing his adversaries and betraying his colleagues equally, until he reached the position as the handler of the Asset from Alexander Pierce himself.

Kravinoff was addicted to power, and nothing was a greater display of supremacy than handling the ultimate weapon of Hydra, which he proved to be the best to hold. So, every time he went on a mission or climbed to a new rank, The Hunter acquired a new bone or teeth pendant.

Nonetheless, thirteen years ago, Kraven got trapped on an explosion during a mission in Rwanda, and his spot got vacant. By then, Agent Rumlow was already one of the most serious contenders for the job, who never stopped until he became the Soldier’s handler. The tasks were brutal, and Rumlow had nightmares for years, but Winter had been worth of every second of torture and pain.

Brock descended from his vehicle -a white Toyota Hiace- and advanced the last steps until the door of his newest shelter; a wooden cabin in the farthest side of the port. The rest of his new belongings had been easy to hide in his base in Montevideo and after _Arturo Zambrano_ rented the vehicle and the tiny place for a month, he installed himself in Ushuaia.

 _“A Nice place to share with Wint.”_ Brock mused. The climate was pretty cold and he was dressed himself as any fisherman would do. Rain boots, worn blue jeans and a gray flannel. A warm black vest and a wool hat complemented his attire. He looked quite common, considering the quantity of people who came to that place seeking for adventure and huge fishes. Rumlow met his new householder -An old man, with no interest in chatting- and paid the whole rent in advance.

As he received the keys of his cabin and saw the man walking away, the former spy recalled the time when Alexander Pierce promoted him after Kravinoff’s death. He accepted the rant humbly and professionally, and somehow, his main concern had been his uncontrollable heartbeat. Maybe, Hydra could even track it and they would suspect he was been overly happy to be with Wint.

After receiving the news, Brock had waited in the room where the Asset was being prepared for their next mission, and when the technicians left them alone for a moment, he took from his tactic pants a tiny chocolate bar. Many times, specially, during their recent missions together, Wint seemed to recall his voice or his face when they first met, and sweet treats always helped. Sometimes, his eyes were almost lucid. Rumlow lived for those days.

That time, only those empty eyes had received him.

Without vacillation, the agent opened the package and inhaled deeply. Some hours ago, the Soldier had been extracted from ice and possibly he couldn’t even recognize his own face in a mirror. So, he simply slid it between the Soldier’s lips as he had done so many times before. **“You don’t remember. I know, but just take it. Eat it. This will be good for you”** He murmured patiently.

Brock Rumlow had repeatedly showed his value as the most fearsome Hydra agent but now, looking at his snow angel, who didn’t seem to even know him, he thought he was about to start crying.

 **“Spasibo, Agent Rumlow.”** Was all he got as the Asset tasted the chocolate, still with his dead eyes, and yet, it was everything he needed to hear. “ _He remembers me_ ”. He had thought, and then, everything was worth the pain. _“Grazie, Dío. He truly remembers me”_

 **“Agent Kravinoff won’t be with you anymore. From now on, I’ll be your handler, Winter. Come with me, so you’ll be properly reassigned”** He said, with his best martial voice, and took him to the tactical operations hall, when the technicians returned.

After the transference protocols were completed, Agent Rumlow entered to the main room of the headquarters, where his unit was already waiting. The Soldier walked behind him in every step. Then, through a speaker, the unmistakable voice of Alexander Pierce echoed through the place.

**“As you know, Agent Kravinoff is deceased and it’s my will, and Hydra’s High council decision to name Agent Brock Rumlow as the new commander of Hydra Special Unit, and the Asset’s Handler. You will fulfill your missions under his direct orders from now on”**

Rumlow would always remember the way Rollins and the rest of his squad got openmouthed about the news. He would recall how they traveled to the place and made a splendid job without witnesses, casualties or harm to the Asset. After returning, everyone in his unit had congratulated him. Even his trusty and grim Rollins suggested opening a bottle of _mezcal_ , and  celebrating once the Asset would be conveniently stored.

 **“Sure. I’ll take the Asset to maintenance. Start without me, guys”** He mentioned.

The Soldier had waited for Brock outside the hall, as a charged weapon and when he advanced, Winter followed him. Finally, they arrived to the chamber and Rumlow dismissed the technical team arguing he needed to get familiar with the protocols of cleansing and feeding, in case he needed to perform them in field. The idea was exceptionally well received for those terrified guys, and then, Rumlow took his Wint to his private shower… Being a handler had its perks.

The agent discarded carefully every piece of clothing and every weapon from Winter’s body, and when he was fully undressed, Brock did the same. He found annoying those new straps for bullets and guns he was wearing around his back and arms. Maybe he should start using something more practical. A crossed design similar to an X around his chest would be easier to take off when the moment came for Winter and him to undress each other. He thought, naughtily.

The warm water started running over their shoulders, and before he could realize it, he was cleansing Wint’s porcelain skin with a soapy washcloth. Winter looked relaxed and almost content as the hands of his handler ran over him.

He carded gently the other man’s locks and unmade the knots as he washed Wint’s hair. When he finished, poured some conditioner. Winter purred like a cat when the coconut fragrance reached his nose.

**“Your hands, Sir”**

Rumlow was taken aback by the comment. Wint used to be silent and his words were a rare treasure, which common agents scarcely received. Well, he was not a common agent anymore.

**“What do you mean, Wint… Er… Winter?”**

**“You have touched me before. I know it”** Wint affirmed, still doubtfully.

Brock simply nodded, He couldn’t believe his good fortune.

 **“You remember me?”** Rumlow had ventured more weakly than he intended.

**“I know you take care of me, Sir. I know you’re important to me”**

**“You don’t have to call me Sir, or commander when we’re alone. You understand it?**

**“Yes Sir”.**

Wint gasped. He had failed miserably the first order his new handler gave him. The Soldier straightened his position and prepared to be punished. Instead, the man smirked fondly.

 **“When there’s no one around, you can call me Brock”** This new handler seemed to obviate the mistake.

Rumlow had been trained to become the best of the best. He could easily endure a 30 hours interrogatory without spilling a word. He could last four days without sleep and food deprived. His stamina and courage were known for everybody around him. He was surely the toughest guy in miles around, and yet, no one had prepared him to what followed.

Winter smiled to him.

It was shy and brief, but Brock had never seen something as extraordinary as the look in those silver eyes. It was everything he needed, and more. The agent’s knees trembled and his breathing halted into his throat. For a second, and against all odds, Brock Rumlow dared to dream.

He leant his face on Wint’s face, barely brushing his lips and his nose against his beloved’s profile, and the other man relished on his touch, closing his eyes. Surely, no one had touched him gently in a lifetime.

 **“Thank you…”** Winter whispered, out of breathe. His eyes were still closed and he let out the softest sigh. Then, their lips got almost unsustainably close. They were so full of beauty. So warm. Almost begging for a kiss.

Until his last breathe, Rumlow would remember the way that water droplets gathered and fell from Wint’s eyelashes like raindrops on a rose when he looked at him, expectantly.

Closer.

Brock never had wanted to hold and to kiss anyone like this. He wanted to take this man to his bed, press him against his mattress and fuck him senseless until he remembered him above anything else. But he was Brock Rumlow. He was a motherfucker, but he wouldn’t take what he couldn’t win.

 **“I can’t!”** Brock had pulled himself off from the embrace, as Winter looked at him confused. Out of nothing, a stream of tears fell from his amber eyes.

 **“Not this… Not like this… I’m sorry. I can’t… Not to you”** he almost cried.

 **“I’m sorry, Commander Brock. What can I do to repair my fault?”** Wint asked. Brock tried to keep calm, but ended curled on himself, and slid on the floor feeling miserable.

 **“S’Not your fault. You’re perfect… You’re so fucking perfect”** He sobbed **“We should be celebrating that we can be together … But someday you’ll find out that I’m just a worm.”**

The Soldier reached out and seated on the floor, next to his commander and for the first time in six decades he didn’t followed an order or was coaxed to do anything. There, under the hot spray he leaned his head against Rumlow’s shoulder, not even knowing what he was doing but somehow, it worked. The mere idea of recovering a bit of Wint’s humanity was comforting to Brock.

Winter returned to ice for three months, and Brock cursed himself for every second he was far from this creature. He promised himself he would be strong for his beloved, and he would not break his promise. Not now. Not back in his cabin, when he heard the front door silently opening and a familiar voice called him.

 **“I know you’re here, boy”** The footsteps on the wooden floor were astoundingly quiet for a man of his size.

 **“There’s no point hiding from you”** Brock stated from the living room. A cellphone and a bottle of red wine rested on the right side of the couch.

 **“You look almost exactly like the last time we met”** The man called with a Russian accent as he approached.

**“I’d say the same, Kraven.”**


	7. Northwest

Ushuaia

**54°48′23″ S, 68°12′10″ O**

Kravinoff closed the door and advanced the last steps until his gaze met his former teammate. He smirked cynically.

**“I’ve heard that some of our guys are dead. Was it you _Brocky Boy_?”**

**“I’ve made a lot of things recently.”** Brock teased.

**“Sure. I’ve heard you became the Asset’s handler after my departure. Is my sweet pet fine? Does it miss me?”**

**“I don’t think so. The asset always had a better performance when someone capable was on charge”** Rumlow snorted. **“Tell me, Kraven, what have you done these days if you’re not part of Hydra anymore?”**

 **“Who told you that ugly lie?”** The man licked his upper lip in an imitation of smile **“I’ve been having fun cutting some loose threads for the high council”**

Oh.

So, Kravinoff had been responsible for all those _accidents_ that happened to so many agents in recent years. Even before the discovery of Captain Rogers, a lot of Hydra goons disappeared in unknown circumstances and for Rumlow, it was easy to link the parts.

Possibly after they heard the rumors, all those poor fools believed Captain America would incline the balance and tried to contact SHIELD to sell Hydra secrets, but as soon as they were under suspicion, Kraven -who had been conveniently declared dead, a while ago- went after them and The Hunter got many opportunities to acquire a bunch of new material for his pendants.

Luckily, all those years, Kraven’s missions were not high-priority ranked for the High Council, and the Asset stayed under Brock’s command. Furthermore, after Triskellion fall, Hydra was not as powerful as they used to, and he had been hidden by Winter. If not, Hydra would have sent Kravinoff to kill him… or even more. He could have sent him after Wint.

 _“Thanks Rollins”_ He thanked internally to his favorite bastard. Clearly, the intention of Greta Lascombe had been prevent Jack from The Hunter when she found out about other double agent deaths, but now, all these circumstances had guided Rumlow to Kraven. He would protect his second in command and only friend, but beyond that. If Kravinoff wanted to hurt Winter, the man would have to walk over Rumlow’s dead body first.

And there was a bigger secret too.

However, something hadn’t changed at all. The Russian had always seen Winter as a prey dog and nothing more. The red marks that Wint had displayed on his neck and back for years had been enough proof of it, and when Kraven left his job, he lost his favorite weapon. Nevertheless, he never stopped having a desperate need for blood, and the mere idea of hunting down the guy who stole his best hound surely was driving him crazy.

Rumlow observed him.

Rumors said that during his early years hunting in Africa, Kraven stole a mysterious plant from a Wakandan sorcerer. Apparently, its juice had granted him supernatural abilities and it prolonged his youth. Some agents affirmed that they had seen the Hunter defeating in single combat a polar bear during a mission in Greenland. Stories even suggested that Kravinoff was almost as fast and strong as the Asset. Now, looking at this man, as solid as the last time they met, Rumlow could almost believe some of those legends.

Just like in the old days, Kravinoff wore a lion skin belt and a whip tied on it. His right hand rested on the hilt of his weapon for a second and clasped it. Brock had seen him using it on skin and bones, and he knew it was lethal.

 **“You know that whatever it happens next, only one of us will be alive tomorrow. So, you can tell me anything. You hid yourself successfully for more than a year, but today you just appeared in my city, dressed as a fucking lumberjack. Why are you _really_ here, Rumlow?”** Kravinoff whizzed.

Agent Brock Rumlow had always been a splendid liar, and it would not change now.

 **“I’m now under SHIELD orders. They sent me to kill useless Hydra bastards like you. Then, when all of you are dead, they’ll grant me a new life and a new identity. So, I won’t spill their own dirty secrets”** He stated **“If I succeed, they will cleanse the world from Hydra scum, and it will happen too if I fail. As you can see, it’s a win-win situation for them”**

**“So, you killed Kraus and Synthia, _Brocky boy_?”**

**“Yes, and I really enjoyed it”** Brock used his truest smile to crown his lies, as he usually did. Well. To be honest, he would have loved murdering those motherfuckers.

 **“It’s nice to know it. I first supposed my pet had become crazy, and it must be hunted down as the rabid bitch it is, but it was you all this time. As I supposed, you’re an adaptable coward… However, I don’t get something”** The man paused. Crazy or not, Kravinoff was extremely dangerous **“Where is _my Asset_?”**

 **“How could I know it?”** Brock stood up and left the glass of wine on the nearest table as he walked through the place **“When Insight operation began, he fought against Captain America himself. Rogers is still alive and crashing down our installations. So, the Soldier must be rotting into the Potomac, or collecting some dust into SHIELD’s cryogenic chambers by now. Who the fuck cares?”**

Suddenly, the whiplash resonated against the table. Tiny red drops tinted Brock’s face, as his glass of wine got reduced to tiny crystal fragments. Agent Rumlow didn’t even flinch.

 **“ _HE_? When did you started calling it “ _HE_ ”, It is just a weapon and an animal. Anyone could almost think you like that monstrosity” **He roared.

 **“To like? You used the Asset for years. You know it’s just an empty shell of a man”** Rumlow dismissed casually as he advanced to his left side. Subtly, both men calculated their distance from the other. In addition of the lash, Kravinoff had an assault rifle on his back, and two knives were attached to his belt. There should be much more under the visible attire. Slow, almost imperceptibly, they started circling each other like two wolves.

 **“Yes, _Brocky boy_ … But it’s a _very_ desirable shell, and you can’t deny it.”** Kraven searched for any feeling surfacing in Brock’s eyes.

 **“Come on, Kraven. Won’t you tell me you didn’t take a piece of that cake?”** Brock hid his anger and tried to turn his opponent’s cards.

 **“Not like you think. The Asset was a hound, and I preferred treating it like that. _Bozhe!_ You should have heard it howl in pain all the times I punished it. It was really difficult to obtain, but  didn’t need more than its screams to get off. It was exquisite. ” **Brock’s unbelieving smile made him speak further **“I’d be dead if I had touched it with something beyond my whiplash. The Asset was only _their_ property, and if it’s still alive, the Supreme Hydra will claim what’s his.”**

 **“Pierce is dead”** Rumlow exclaimed as he took off a knife from his vest.

 **“You’re more stupid than I’ve thought, _Brocky boy_ ” **Kraven answered, waving the lash in slow and deliberated circles around his head. **“But you won’t live to know any further. The Hydra still keeps its greatest head intact and it will reborn from the ashes. Then, my hound will return to…”**

 **“Oh, shut the fuck off, man”** Brock cut him off, as he advanced a step more, and the circle got smaller.

As usual, Brock made him attack first.

The first whiplash missed the target, since Brock fell swiftly on his knees, and stretched out his body backwards avoiding the first hit. Right then, Rumlow used his own momentum to slide under the perimeter of the lash, and used his knife in Kraven’s right ankle. He cut cleanly the ligaments.

But right then, amidst the roaring pain of the hunter, a second whiplash crashed on Brock’s back, and a massive blood trail stained the walls.

They rolled in the ground, ready to die or to kill.

…

64°08'10.46'' N,  21°56'00.30'' W

**Reykjavik**

**“How can be sure about Bucky’s intentions, Nat?”** Steve whispered, still suspicious about their Wakandan partners.

**“Because there’s something you need to know”**

**“What is it?”**

Sam’s intuition hit the right spot when he spoke **“Cap. Just… Whatever it is, please remember all of us are on the same team”**

 **“I knew him.”** Natasha lowered her gaze, visibly ashamed **“I knew the Asset when I was just a little girl.”** Steve’s eyes went round for a moment and an inaudible _“What?”_ abandoned his lips.

**“During my training in the Red Room, other girls and I were left alone in Siberian tundra and we were told that only a true Black Widow would endure it. All of us did terrible things to survive. I’ve told you about it, but there’s more.”**

Whenever Natasha recalled her training, her usual stoicism was left aside and sadness and guilt were visible in her eyes. Steve simply nodded, respectfully.

 **“I was the only survivor, but I didn’t make it alone.”** Nat’s expression turned fond **“During the last phase of our training, my remaining friends and I sought refuge into a cave, waiting for a snowstorm to end. We waited for two days, and then, when all hope was lost, a masked man appeared. He was there on a mission by his own, but somehow, _The Soldier_ found our track. We were terrified. All of us were just little weak and ill creatures fighting for our lives but for some reason, he helped us.” **

Steve smiled fondly. It was comforting to know that, brainwashed or not, Bucky Barnes would always react to it: _little weak and ill creatures fighting for their lives_ like his past self. Nat continued.

**“The Soldier made a fire and gathered as much food as he could in the middle of the arctic. He tried to feed us and take care of us, but it was too late for most of the girls; we had to watch my friends die, one by one.”**

Sam pressed a hand over Natasha’s shoulder. _“I’m sorry”_ He seemed to say wordlessly. Nat nodded **“He was still trying to reanimate my last remaining friend _Yelena_ when the Russians found us and took us to their nearest base. I was almost unconscious, but I heard them. Apparently, something called _The Asset_ had been severely damaged they’d had to change all his security standards.”**

 **“ _The Asset_. Pierce called Bucky like that.”** Steve recalled. **“Something happened to him.”**

**“Apparently, no one cared about a little girl who could likely die in hours, but I listened more, and the scientists told that the Asset’s mind got split. Hydra’s programming was written over the original mindset of “the sergeant” but after the incident, a second personality developed as a defense mechanism. I didn’t understand a single word then, but when you started looking for him, I knew those men were talking about Barnes.”**

Nat sighed **“And there’s one last thing. Five years ago, I saw him again. As I told you, he attacked me in Odessa, but he was the Soldier, and nothing more. I couldn’t even recognize him that time. He looked so different… I’m sorry, Steve. I should have known.”**

 **“It’s not your fault. You didn’t even know about Bucky then”** Steve denied.

**“But I knew him once.”**

**“Then it’s true”** Sam’s voice whispered, finally understanding it. **“Natalia?”** Nat simply nodded.

 **“You knew about it too”** Steve frowned, consternated **“How?”**

 **“Not really, but I was given some clues. A year ago, when you received the last letter from Barnes, I found this one in my room.”** Sam took from one of the security compartments of his suit a piece of paper, and handled it to Steve. **“Bucky asked me to be discrete, and I know I should have told you, but when I got the letter we had no proofs about what happened. Back in that day, I thought this could be a trick of Rumlow. I’m sorry”**

Steve read it, and a heavy silence fell over him. There it was. After a year, another message from his Bucky. He just wished to kiss and to press against his chest this piece of paper. Despite its content, it was the unmistakable proof of the existence of Bucky Barnes behind _The Soldier_! And more than that, regardless of the damage and the pain, Buck remembered him and part of his plan included protecting him.

However, there was also the acknowledgement of a truth he had tried to evade for more than a year. The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were not the same person.

 **“This letter looks strange to me, Steve”** Nat ventured. **“Barnes said that he would contact us exactly in a year from the moment he wrote the letter… But why specifically now?”**

 **“Well. He stated he needed to do some things before contacting Steve. Those things could have taken him a year... Or maybe it was the UN meeting. He also wants to protect Rumlow, because he… thinks he loves him. Maybe, the man is still manipulating Barnes, and they can be together against Hydra”** Sam summarized.

 **“Why?”** Nat shook softly her head. **“If I were Rumlow, and everybody -except team Cap- thought I’m dead, why would I persecute trained assassins, instead having a nice life?**

 **“I don’t know. Rumlow has nothing to win here, while Buck does have it. What kind of information is pursuing Bucky, and where’s Rumlow if they’re not together?”** Captain America started to solve this puzzle. Judging by the content of the last letter, Bucky was trying to protect not only Rumlow, but also Steve and his friends. Maybe, he needed to obtain specific information from those high officers instead just killing them, and maybe… Just maybe, this was leading them to something bigger.

Suddenly, Steve’s communication system flashed and he recognized it as a high priority message from agent Hill. He opened the deciphered version and read the holographic sheet.

 **“Oh, god”** Steve’s jaw clenched.

 **“What’s wrong, Cap?”** Sam inquired, visibly worried.

**“Important news, guys. Anton Trojak died in his mansion in Tel Aviv”**

**“The founder of Trojak Pharm? What relation is there between his death and Barnes?”** Sam asked.

 **“He had been unsuccessfully investigated by SHIELD about his relationship with Nazis for decades, but Fury never got conclusive information. Now, this happened hours after the assassination of Kraus. It can’t be a coincidence.”** Natasha stated **. “Do you think it was Bucky?”**

 **“Yes. Possibly we’ll get better results if we split.”** Steve suggested. **“You guys can go to Tel Aviv as our Wakandan friends follow the clues left by Kraus here and dismantle the vibranium traffic net. I’ll go to Argentina.”**

 **“Argentina?”** Nat questioned.

**“Yes. The second notice.  Another murder took place an hour ago in Ushuaia. I’m sure Bucky will appear.”**

**“Why?”** Sam knew this was bad.

**“Because Brock Rumlow is dead.”**


	8. North

**Malvinas**

**51°45'0.10"S, 59°0'0.02"W**

Steve tuned his old fashioned radio and tried to relax during the flight; there were so many things he needed to assimilate now, and music always helped him to think. A long time ago, Stark had added this specific item to the quinjet in order to _“make the travel nicer for our favorite senior citizen”_. Despite Captain America knew perfectly how to operate modern technology, and he was not especially fond of Iron Man’s jokes, he always had a soft spot for this gift; possibly, in two more themes of Glenn Miller, Steve would arrive to Ushuaia. He closed his eyes, and breathed slowly the crispy air of the compartment. Then, he felt it.

After years of war, Steve Rogers could recognize this sensation everywhere. This was the calm before the storm.

 

**Ushuaia**

**54°48'23"S, 68°12'10"W**

The air view of this place was gorgeous. “The entrance gate to the Antarctic” was a nice way to describe this little southern village, full of hostels  and wooden buildings. However, even from afar it was easy to find the domicile he was looking for.

A notorious smoke column could be seen from the quinjet. It came from the remains of a cabin in the southern border of the town, and Steve immediately descended.

Obviously, local police and firemen got astonished when they saw Captain America -even wearing civilian clothes- personally arriving to assist with what they considered as a common gas explosion, with only one victim. However, a young local police who introduced herself as Lieutenant Berecoechea took Captain Rogers to the origin of the incident, and started to explain how the domestic gas installation exploded due to a fugue. Apparently, the victim was a person of interest for SHIELD and other international agencies, so, the Lieutenant spoke directly as they walked through the ashes of the kitchen.

 **“Few materials survived the explosion and the rest of the bones and other tissues are badly fragmented or calcined, but we found this incrusted to the roof. It belonged to Agent Brock Rumlow”.** The policewoman took off from a tiny case an evidence plastic bag. It contained a single fragment of tooth. It was labeled as a third molar. Steve’s eyes opened wider. **“We compared the DNA with our international databases, and we’ve got a perfect match. However. We’ve been instructed to keep his identity as classified information. The relevance of this case is easy to see considering you’re here in person.”**

 **“Rumlow was an expert infiltrating and hiding himself. Are you sure?”** Steve used his best martial voice as he signaled the bag, but simultaneously, his stomach got contracted when the agent nodded. Brock was dead. One of his biggest problems was solved, and a part of him knew he should be relieved, but there were too many unanswered questions, and furthermore. This didn’t feel right. The man had betrayed him, and kept Bucky captive, but this was not how it must have ended. Not for Bucky, who deserved a closure so badly. Not even for an asshole like Brock.

For a moment, Steve questioned himself. What should he say when Bucky asked about Brock. How could he tell him that the only person he trusted for decades was no longer alive? No. Too many things should happen first.

Suddenly, a cellphone ringing interrupted his thoughts. Agent Berecoechea answered to her colleague through it.

 **“¿Aló?”** She greeted courtly, but almost immediately she frowned. Something flashed in her light brown eyes **“¿Pero qué me decís, _boludo_?” **After some seconds, the agent took a small notebook and a pen from her pocket, and started to write frantically. When she hung up, she handed the piece of paper to Steve.

 **“This is the only content of agent Rumlow’s cellphone. Apparently, he bought it some hours ago and it received a single message from an unknown location. The apparat got calcined but we recovered this text directly from the phone company database.”** The policewoman smirked **“Possibly you’ll have interest on it.”**

When Steve read the message, he knew exactly what he'd do next.

0000000078480091

 

**Mexico City**

**22°47'7.69"N,  98°25'56.15"W**

James Buchanan Barnes and the Winter Soldier had walked a long road until this point. After more than a year, the man had collected information from his contacts all over the world, and had gotten together the pieces he needed to discover the location of Hydra remaining heads. Some of them had changed their names, and some others, like Anton Trojak and Sinthea Schmidt became millionaires and hid on plain sight. However, from the beginning, he knew he couldn’t just kill them; it was essential to expose them, but the information that linked them to Hydra was sparse in a series of electronic archives, only accessible using a nanochip key.

The nanochip had been easy to track, but when he found the dispositive, it was about to be delivered to Wakandan intelligence.

Infiltrating in Wakanda would have been slightly more difficult. So, Winter waited until the chip got moved; his possibilities to collect it were better if he infiltrated himself into the UN meeting in Vienna, where the spies would interchange it. In a risky move, he made sure to be filmed to attract Steve’s attention when he saw Natalia in the crowd. His strategy would also alert Wakandan king about Hydra’s traffick nets, and get their old bosses busy, by trying to avoid Prince T’Challa and his friends, instead going after Steve, Brock or himself.

Zemo’s bomb was a major inconvenient, but amidst the chaos, he managed to get the nanochip, alert King T’Chaka about the greatest menace he would ever face, save Prince T’Challa, and run away right before some of his old students arrive. He was really glad to discover how skilled Natalia and Nakia had become.

Then, he went after Kraus. The man never got a chance against him, and when he obtained the electronic files from the first head he severed from Hydra, he knew that time would run out soon, so, he traveled as fast as he could from Iceland to Germany.

Sinthea Schmidt had been heavily guarded behind a small army into her castle and yet, none of her officers saw him coming. When they found the corpse, the snow had already melted, and Winter was already flying to Tel Aviv with the second encrypted file in his possession.

The last maneuver gave him enough time to inform Brock that he was fine, using his good old untraceable dispositive. Anyway, not long after Winter eliminated Anton Trojak and took possession of the third part of the archive, he felt his own communication system vibrating.

The Soldier had coupled his dispositive to the private frequencies he was interested on. _“Unknown number”_ was shown in the screen. Apparently, a Morse code message had been sent to Brock:

**“UOFC”.**

_“Use Our Fucking Channel”_ had been the secret code coined by Rollins, and shared only by STRIKE/Hydra team. It could only mean something. Rumlow had recuperated his communication system too, and he was ready to go back to action. His commander had also located Jack Rollins, and had gotten enough information to abandon his base in Montevideo, where Wint had placed Brock a year ago. The soldier smiled. He didn’t expect less from his beloved.

When he discovered Brock’s intentions, Winter sent him a new text message.

_“For me. For you. Hope you like our present. Many more will come.”_

 And then, some hours ago Winter had made another risky move. He had called Brock using their shared channel.

They had a long and passionate talk. Wint was reluctant to let Brock do it and yet, both of them understood the next step.

 **“The line could be pinched, Wint”** Rumlow had said.

 **“It is not.”** The other man declared, positively sure. And then, softly, almost in a whisper, he said the words. Those that belonged only to Brock Rumlow. Those he would gladly take with him to his grave.

When they hung up, they understood that the final phase of their plan had no going back. Winter sent the final message to the new disposable cellphone number that Brock had provided, right before Kraven arrived to the cabin in Ushuaia, and by then, both of them were sure the message would find its last addressee.

Now, Winter just needed to collect one last file to decipher the true identity and location of the Supreme Hydra, and link it to their rightful place into the organization. Only that could bring them to justice. And just maybe, he and Brock would be truly free. He wasn’t allowed to fail now.

The Soldier stepped out of the kitchen of the sumptuous residence, dressed as a cook assistant. He wore a white and blue uniform, a cap and a mouthpiece. Two red plastic gloves covered his hands and his hair was neatly tied in a tight bun. Everyone in the mansion was too busy to notice him, and security personal was clearly inferior, considering his abilities.

When the last member of the kitchen staff retired, he advanced the last steps until he found his target, who was comfortably reclined on a couch, reading the news in his smartphone.

James Buchanan Pierce.

 _“Such a morbid thing.”_ Bucky thought, as he approached silently. For all he knew, the boy was very different to his father, but Hydra had always been a box of lies. He pitied the young man. _“To be named after your father’s personal assassin and sex-slave must be difficult to assimilate”_

When the boy let the phone on his lap and yawned almost inocently, Winter remembered the way Pierce used to chain him in front of his guests and halt him like a human chandelier for their visual enjoyment. He would never forget the last time the man had raped him using the diamond scepter he had got from the last African regime Hydra had deposed, or when the bastard made him rip apart his own nails just to impress the Supreme Hydra. All those times, he had been blindfolded and drugged, but the pain and the humiliation were much easier to remember than those silhouettes behind a tinted glass.

He pointed his gun to the boy’s back head.

 **“Don’t move. If you keep calm, you’ll live.”** Winter stated plainly. **“Where is the Supreme Hydra?”**

His interlocutor was maybe 19 or 20 years old, his long nose and cheeks were covered by freckles and his blond hair fell softly on the left side of his face. He wasn’t particularly tall, or handsome, but there was something that amazed Bucky.

Those eyes.

God. They were so blue. For a second, he was 21 years again in Brooklyn and he could almost smell the soap in Steve’s golden hair when he saw him.

 **“Good evening, Sergeant Barnes. All my life, I’ve been expecting to meet you”**.

The Soldier arched his lips in a pallid smile **“So, you know who I am. I hope someday you know who _really_ was your father.”**

 **“It’s ok. I’m afraid I already know it, and I understand I won’t be able to pay for your loss.”** The boy looked at him directly in the eyes, sighing. **“But I think I still can help you.”** Bucky tilted his head, questioning. This could be a trap. Anyway, James looked so sad that something triggered his empathy. Maybe he was an expert liar, or maybe he had been a victim of Pierce too. Who knew?

 **“I may have something you need.”** The boy added. **“Please, come with me, Sergeant Barnes”**

They walked in silence through the empty corridors of the residence until they reached a huge living room covered with black marble and wood. Everything there had a purpose, and the style reminded him to Alexander Pierce himself. The place was one of the many luxurious houses the family Pierce owned around the world, but for a trained eye, this particular house was more a fortress than a resting place, even when the floor and some of the furniture were decorated with intricate textile art from Oaxaca, and the twin fireplaces seemed a bit unnecessary in this warm climate.

When they arrived to the farthest part of the piece, the little James pushed a camouflaged button behind one of the fireplaces and a flat compartment opened. A portable scanning system unfolded from it.

Slowly, the boy put his whole right hand on the scanner, and when the first filter was removed, he placed his face over a second laser reader. His blue irises and his facial pattern were recognized and finally, a digital speaker got activated next to the other dispositive. Almost deliberately, he rolled his eyes and looked at The Soldier, a bit ashamed.

Then the boy started singing.

**“Who's strong and brave, here to save the American Way?**

**Who vows to fight like a man for what's right night and day?**

**Who will campaign door-to-door for America?**

**Carry the flag shore to shore for America**

**From Hoboken to Spokane**

**The Star Spangled Man with a Plan!”**

The Winter Soldier would not even blink at this spectacle, but something inside Bucky Barnes made him look this poor boy empathetically.

 **“You don’t have to tell me my father had a dark humor. I know how twisted he was”** James added, hiding his gaze, as he took from the strongbox a tiny container. It was made of vibranium, and inside, something laid on a foam bed. The case contained two plastinated spheric satin-like pieces, each one not bigger than a plum.

 **“I grew up hearing that my father’s secrets were too valuable to get lost or offered to the enemy, even before I knew _who_ the real enemy was. I’ve always considered them a heavy burden.”  **The boy smiled melancholically and handled the box with the plastinated pieces to Winter. Rumor had it that even Pierce’s wife had died, years ago when she discovered some of those secrets.   **“Luckily, their rightful owner is finally here. Take or use what you need from our vault. These things are all you need to open it. I’ll turn on the alarm in fifty minutes to remain credible. Maybe, you’ll find convenient to tie me too.”**

 **“Thank you.”** Bucky acknowledged.

 **“This is the least I can do after all the suffering my father caused you… For all that those Hydra motherfuckers did to you. Kill them all”** The blond boy admitted, and for an instant there was an intense rage burning behind those blue eyes. **“And Sergeant Barnes… One more thing.”** Buck almost smiled at the boy when he spoke. **“I don’t know who’s the last person you’re looking for, but I’m sure they will be even more dangerous than my father. Please be safe”**

Then, the boy stepped back and let him get closer to the door. The soldier looked almost absent right there, in front of the immense vault, holding Alexander Pierce’s eye globes.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND COMMENTING  
> KUDOS & COMMENTS ARE LOVE =)  
> By the way, I've made some fanart for this.  
> https://madara-nycteris.deviantart.com/art/97-MINUTES-For-once-in-my-life-728136643
> 
> I personally think that the dynamics between Steve, Bucky and Rumlow is a mine of gold for writers; it's full of possibilities and I love it (I know... I know. A lot of Brock's interaction with Winter Soldier can be seen as creepy. That's why I went for something a bit twisted BUT consensual).
> 
> *Not an english speaker, (but I'm trying to improve). Polite comments and suggestions are always well received. Let me know what do you think about this story =)


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